Fireproof by Trial

I had more of those belch/vomits all morning long. Lady Miss Friday woke up every time, but didn't seem terribly concerned. So at least there's that. I also made sure to rinse and brush my teeth each time, because a lot of my tooth damage is from vomiting and being a hobo. Tim also called, asking my plans for the day. And made sure to mention the Indian microwavable meals he brought me. I get that I'm hard to love. I did some shopping in the morning, buying half-price cat litter, the SoftSpot treats in bulk, a couple other varieties of treats, and Yogis for The Girls. I also bought a bunch of cheap AF headphones. I figure I'll have my good pair for trying to get fully immersed in music, and the rest so I don't suffocate if I have to replace them. Tim hasn't pushed me to come down since he heard the Marco Polo I sent my mom where I mentioned my anxiety about Bird Feeding becoming a responsibility. I'll get back down there, I'll feed them....just not right now. My main plan for the day was to journal. As I've mentioned, when I keep current, my journal fulfills its purpose. I do a lot of introspection and analysis. When I don't keep it current, it becomes a record of my To-Do List for that day.

But then David messaged me. We'd talked yesterday about the possibility of filming together, but I'm insecure about my weight enough (since my body is no longer shutting down from starvation) that I didn't want to push sex. And wasn't even sure how I felt about sex. He gave me the options of just having lunch, fucking, or meeting up next time. Eating was still wonky as fuck (I only managed about half of the Indian food Tim sent me), so I opted for fucking instead. It was also good to...y'know...shower. My stomach was a dick, so it took me longer to get ready. I didn't fucking eat for the last two days, what the fuck is wrong with you. I finally got ready and found the place. Apparently there's a new megachurch hotel in Mission Valley. I live in a cave. But I'm very happy in that cave. His cheeks are a little heavier these days, and a lot of what he said while fucking set off paranoia bells in my head. He said he loved me, I was magical, etc. I don't believe in any of that, so I always think they're trying to manipulate me, that they want something from me. I'm aware, it's fucked up. I put a damper there, and said very honestly that I loved him too. My hole is practically a vigin again, and I somehow missed how big his dick is over the years, but we took it slow. After we fucked, I filled him in on my recent developments. I was, of course, very honest about the addiction, about passively killing myself, about not being (or wanting to be) sober, and about how almost anything but GHB is kind of my way of keeping me from relapsing. He asked about my current meds, and commented that my depression was one of the most prominent, noticeable things about me since he met me. Another one of those things that was obvious to everyone but me. I'm a little slow. He talked about microdosing and the current research towards therapeutic psychedelics. Gave me some mini doses of shrooms he'd brought down and even gave me the trick to fucking on them. Just get cleaned up before you dose and take an Immodium. MAGIC. It was really, really nice to have affectionate sex with relatively little anxiety. And because of a mutual desire, not just me being a Fleshlight. I finally mustered up the courage and asked him about Carl, since I'd gotten the feeling he was no longer part of the relationship, but it turns out Carl fell in love with their housekeeper, moved out, and things are mostly ducky. He confirmed Carl's anxiety about Todd, and I can't quite remember how he perfectly phrased it. He wasn't so much in love with Todd as just terrified of being alone. Something like that. I'm going to take care of some legal work for them. The house is currently in Carl's name, both because David is on medicare and because Todd has a 90k tax debt. The tax debt apparently expires or something next year, they just need someone to file the paperwork. Similarly, I'm going to look at the property documents and figure out how to make sure they're all taken care of.

I spent time with Lady Miss Friday on the bed for a while before finally giving myself the push to finish journaling. Charlie messaged me about making the long, stripping Spiderman video again, and I was about to, but then my mom called. As much as I like the Marco Polo version of communication, I answered. It was quite possibly one of the healthiest conversations I've had with her. She talked about her own current psychological journeys, learning to de-link things associated with dad's trauma, taking steps of her own off the battlefield. We talked about Jared and nature vs nurture for him being such a dick. Abuse cycles are tragic. Lady Miss Friday said hi, and we talked about outlets. Hers was gardening, and dad was initially fine with it. He'd give it away to their neighbors and take credit for it. Mom didn't care as long as she got to garden. Word got out and dad got pissed. I suggested going back to giving them away, but obviously getting credit for doing it this time. Talked about my evolutionarily slow movement with boundaries, but Lady Miss Friday, et al, are my loophole. I can't set boundaries for me, but I can set them for others. She said Lady Miss Friday is my catalyst, and talked about barriers and pathways, doors obviously needing the right key. Lots of....metaphors, darling.

Things took a slight turn after that, because she made me promise not to get mad and asked if I was friends with Jared. The last words I said to him were "Don't speak to me" almost 20 years ago now. I talked about my own shame at addiction dragging me back in our competition of existence, but maintained that if I saw him on fire, I'm not sure if I would piss on him to put it out. It was actually kind of reassuring to find that kind of cold, serrated rage again. I'd been worried I lost it when I started thinking of how he got shafted. She'd apparently seen pictures of me on Jared's Facebook. They were gone now, but when she showed me the pics she saw, they were from Tim's birthday a few years ago, the night I got Anasta(s/c)ia. That being as creepy as it is bizarre, I just reiterated that while I'd never do anything to ruin Jared (that would be cheating), I do pull up the popcorn when he fucks himself over. Conveniently, Tim called at that moment, so I left off with my mom. I recognized the level of insane paranoia my mom had to have to think I was friends with Jared behind her back, but it didn't guard me from it. I double checked with Tim, and 1) he's had no contact with Jared, and 2) he'd tell me if he did. He's one of very few people that I mostly trust, so that was enough to walk me back from the crazy cliff.